Rubenstein produced a flimsy piece of plastic, letting Schumacher read the words at the top. "All you base are now belong to me" read the logo. The photo was a minimally dressed MinuteGirl wearing hideout knives, skinpainted MinuteGirl insignia, and bright pink next to nothing as clothing, all while clutching an improbably large riflelike weapon.
"We're giving them this present," Rubenstein announced. "It's a postcard. The troop asked Wonderchick to pose, but she rather emphatically declined. Something about the hot pink cloth--both square inches of it--not matching her hair. We're giving each Chinese POW one before they are deported."
"Oh." Schumacher thought for a moment. "There's some dodge on the Total Suppression Act, this being a message to the Chinese?"
"The Act says you can rebroadcast their propaganda at them, so long as the historical quotes are accurate and in context. The tag line is from a famous pre-Incursion game. The photo, ummh, I gather a photograph of approximately that format was associated pre-Incursion with the quote," Rubenstein explained bemusedly. How had her girls come up with it? They'd done the right legal clearances, too, up to asking her to speak with the Secretary.
"Is Colonel Ryerson still annoyed with me?" Schumacher asked.
"He says no," Rubenstein answered. She pulled a document from her desk. "From: Ryerson. To: Schumacher. My Advocate says to say you were right. Next time, why not ask real men for help? Ryerson."
"That's an apology. For a guy." Schumacher suppressed a yawn. "Why did you say 'says'?"
"Have you ever heard of the Eagle Legion?" Rubenstein asked. "No relation at all to the Eagle Scouts." Schumacher shook her head. "It turns out to be a male secret society, hidden in the Men's Popular Volunteer Forces. It stresses harsh, painful training not on combat-related activities, rigorous obedience to orders, repetitive completion of demanding pointless tasks in an enthusiastic way, that sort of thing."
"It does? Why?" Schumacher was baffled. "How do they come in?"
"Colonel Ryerson seems to have given away more than he imagined," Rubenstein explained. "He threw his rant, and had that platoon along for support. But that wasn't his headquarters team. It was people here and there from the 18th Alabama and several other regiments. Ordinarily we'd never know who's where in their Table of Organization, but when they're our backup, we pick up who does what, enough so we can talk. When the training cycle closes, that information all gets purged -- DisUnity of Command Doctrine." Schumacher nodded in agreement, again thanking G*d that she'd paid careful attention to all the classes on DisUnity. "Training Cycle isn't over yet. So we still have that info. Not to mention, someone might claim your pointing at an autocannon at the Colonel was criminal assault."
Schumacher suddenly felt even more tired. "Three autocannon," she corrected.
"Don't fret yourself. And you're right. We had that info. And a half-dozen of your troopmates are very good at launching associative fuzzy logic searches. Not to mention Smart Blonde seems to have more interesting friends in odd places than any other four people her age. How on earth did she find those Lambda Scout troops?" Rubenstein said, half to herself. "So they launched this very large, very clever servile-based bit of work. And they found, without being given clues, the Eagle Legion. Either they're only half-trying to hide, or they're really sure they're the Creator's Own Gift to the Popular Army, and ego replaces precautions."
"I suppose it's bad, and we should tell them their security holes?" Schumacher said. "And delete our files, because DisUnity is Strength? But they're guys. So id, not ego, right?" She told herself she was wandering.
“It's bad. You have a need to know. But you will keep your mouth shut on this. And so will your troopmates. And give prayers of thanks we are not government, we are private, and we lawfully ignore the Suppression of Security Act." Rubenstein was briefly stern.
"Pledge my heart and die before talking, no one outside the Troop hears," Schumacher promised. "Exactly what is secret?"
"Exactly?" Rubenstein began to look annoyed.
"You base am all grelked? The postcard is secret? What we did to the ChiComms? What?" Shumacher told herself she was being really slow, for all she was very seriously short on sleep.
"Oh, right. The Eagle Legion! Ryerson doing anything out of the ordinary. The associative search," Rubenstein explained. "And now I've got your curiosity up. You can safely speak to Stars and Smart Blonde. Not Perfection Queen, Princess, or Wonderchick! Perfection Queen knows she can't stay shut up, so she asked not to know. Wonderchick might do something...something spectacular, too soon. Oh, yes. Professor Morbius’s intern is back in town. The cute little boy. He needs to know, so Morbius finds out. But he will be back in town tomorrow morning, so you can talk with him then."
"Yes, Ma'am," Schumacher said. "You asked about Smart Blonde? Earlier, Ma'am?"
"Yes?" Rubenstein asked.
"Personal but relevant," Schumacher announced. When Rubenstein did not hush her, she continued: "Boyfriends. She asked all her past close boyfriends. That's lots and lots. More of than anyone else in the troop."
"More boyfriends than Wonderchick?" Rubenstein realized she'd interrupted.
"Wonderchick is very choosy. Totally ignores most guys and gals who hit on her," Schumacher said. "There's no short form on the Eagle Legion?"
"Once upon a time, the good people of the United States of America voted money for a standing army. And then it became a standing politicalized army. But political armies, well, they're `less effective against people with guns', as the saying goes. Everyone thought it went away after the Incursion. But what went on the uniform insignia?" Rubenstein asked. Schumacher's jaw dropped. Rubenstein put her finger to her lips. "And now, since you dutifully logged your sleep schedule for the last week, you are ordered to go to eat, go to your quarters, and sleep until tonight, at which time you will take three days local leave."
NUMBER 9, TIGER LILY TERRACE
SOUTH HARBIN STATE FOREST
HARBIN, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
October 25, 2174, 8:14 PM HLT
The doorbell chimed. Monica Schumacher, wearing slippers and a scarlet bathrobe, unlocked the front door. "Stars? Are you off for the…" Melissa Moriarty was white trousers and tabard. She must have changed in the cantonment. Standing next to Melissa was Grant Thomas. Grant was in combat dress, sand-coated, with Thayer M-31 and headgear over one shoulder. He'd been expected tomorrow for a few hours. How had Stars recovered Grant so quickly?
"I rescued him," Stars announced. "He volunteered to go out and look at a deserted bunker, and it wasn’t so deserted. So the Troop cleared the place, but Princess wanted to put overwatch on the bunker in case strays came back thinking we hadn’t found it, and he was proposed as one of the watchers. So I rescued him, on account he has really been very nice."
Which was certainly true, Monica noted. Grant had been sent back for three days, asking questions for Morbius about the Special Group operation. He’d not been underfoot or obnoxious and, as WonderChick had said during his last visit, was definitely not hard on the eyes. He’d even found the time to be kind to her after he’d delivered the troop's data to Morbius and friends.
"Have you guys had dinner yet?" Monica asked. The look on their faces was obvious. "Lunch? Come in, Grant. Don’t just stand there. We’ll have dinner in a bit." She stepped back and sniffed. "Your rifle’s been fired. You actually got close to ChiComms?"
Grant and Melissa stepped into the vestibule, Grant slipping out from under his pack.
"Food sounds great," Grant announced. "But I need to clean my Thayer. And I need to be clean myself, before I track up the place." He slipped out of his boots. "They got close to me. We thought it was empty. And going down a corridor, these three guys charged out of a room and started shooting. And shot off two grenades."
"Thayer goes to the armory," Monica announced. "That’s why we have servots. I mean, you can clean it in the dark, in your sleep, so it’s not you need to practice. And you were close enough to see these guys?"
"He was point," Melissa explained. "I was three steps behind him. And he was great, before, during, and after, weren’t you, Grant?"
"Oh, sure," Grant said. "I did what I was supposed to."
"Point?" questioned Monica. Grant had spent most of the last few days with Melissa, being walked though one captured base after the next, and Melissa had been totally positive on everything she had said about him. Besides, he certainly was not hard on the eyes, or even on the mind, the CommNet chats they'd had.
"It made sense," said Grant. "We’d never trained together, but point only has to trust people behind him and know when to fall down. Besides, we knew the place was empty. Been watched for days. So I thought I could get some unique coverage for the Professor."
"You did great," Melissa said. "I had overwatch. The ChiComms stepped out, and Grant dropped them." Grant took the moment to pass his weapons to the summoned servot.
"And then I got bounced across the floor by the grenade. Do I get the ‘Minuteboy cermet body armor’ line?" He smiled innocently.
"It worked," Melissa said. "This time it worked."
"Anyone hurt?" Monica asked.
"Grant got bounced around. Everyone else is OK," Melissa said.
"Grant. You poor boy." Monica hugged him. She turned serious. "Stars, are we going to talk about the other thing now? He needs to be fed. Don’t you, Grant?"
"Other thing?" Grant asked.
"Like last time," Melissa said. "We have some things you need to know. For Morbius."
"That’s great," Grant said. "Is it complicated?" The two women nodded.
"I promised Grant he’d get at least a sandwich before anything else. Didn’t I, Grant?" Melissa perched a hand on his shoulder. She held up her other hand, well out of Grant’s sight, holding up three fingers. Monica winked.
"I could hear you more easily if my stomach were growling a bit less loudly," Grant said. "But if it’s for the Professor, that’s task the first. Though if it’s really complicated, I could come back in the morning."
"Food first," Monica said. "And we have an extra bedroom. With first-rate security. So you won’t have to travel more than needed. Besides, we can describe it over breakfast."
"Breakfast? That’s very generous of you." Grant bit his tongue. Monica could see his thoughts. Security? What had they heard about his last visit? "Why not? I was actually packed to go back to Massachusetts when Stars asked if I’d like to see one more bunker, and chat me up afterwards. So I went on a two hour excursion that went on a bit longer than we expected."
"Six hours longer," Melissa said. "Grant, I’m really sorry, but we were really sure the place was empty and not trapped. So we thought it would be a good way for you to see what we were doing."
"You did," Grant answered. "It was really great. Now I know exactly what you’ve been doing. Including getting shot at." He pulled his datapad from a belt clip and spoke a few words to it. "OK. I’m packed and moving. But surely your new surprise can’t be as spectacular as your last surprise?"
"Maybe not," Melissa said. "But spectacular."
"For sure," Monica differed. "ChiComms are outside. Surprise is inside. But old and complicated. Steak on crusty white?" Grant took the proffered sandwich. The women took matching sandwiches. Grant’s first and second sandwiches, alternating with cold lemonade and a sliced tomato, disappeared.
"You’re off for a few days?" Grant finally asked.
"Major Rubenstein, she who must be obeyed, gave the order herself. I could have gone back. I just needed a little sleep. I’d been going to funerals, for all the women who…" Monica squeezed her eyes shut. It still hurt. All those people had died because she had led them into danger. She realized that Grant had an arm on one of her shoulders to hold her. "It didn’t go quite the way I planned."
"You did fine," Grant said. "Morbius said so. Kapitan Mors said so." They were quiet for a few minutes.
"You did fine, too, Grant," Melissa said. "But we did promise to feed you. And you really do need to get out of those into something clean. Fortunately the chalet comes with a scrub and hot tub. Unless you want a chocolate sundae first."
"Perhaps the sundae after I’m not dripping sand over into it? Crunchy chocolate is not me," Grant said. "You were really nice to put up with me for the sandwiches, but…"
"But you were starving, and I was hungry, too," Melissa said. "And this place has good servots for cleanup-it’s used to hikers and bikers and MinuteGirls coming through from the field."
"The bath is up to speed," Monica announced. "This way."
* * * * *
The bath, actually a 9x9 foot ellipsoid through which warm water circulated, occupied a sheltered porch overlooking a walled garden. The sun had set. A row of pine trees gave complete privacy in every direction except the night stars. Wind-chimes tinkled softly in the distance.
Grant stretched. He had been bounced off the ground fairly hard. The stretch made him feel definitely better.
"This is it," Melissa announced. "You’re still being bothered by the arm you landed on-let me help you out of the jacket."
"Oh, thanks, that’s really nice of you…careful, there’s a lot of dust in that," he answered.
"Even your back is dirty," Monica said. "Didn’t they ever clean the bunker floor you landed on?"
"Not likely," Grant answered.
"What you need," Melissa said, "is a pair of hands to help you wash your back. Yes?"
"Yes, ummh, I mean," Grant realized he was about to put both feet in the minefield.
"Unless you’re really too shy, I suppose," Monica said.
"No. I mean, yes. I mean, look, there are two of you and I like both of you and am really grateful to both of you for everything you’re doing and I don’t want to hurt either of your feelings…" Grant rambled.
"How’s to hurt feelings?" Melissa asked.
“Ummh, aaah, errrrh" Grant mumbled.
"And I had the servots put out a little plum wine for when you’re no longer mud-soaked," Monica said, pointing at a corner of the bath. A glow-pad came on, softly illuminating a ceramic carafe. And three small cups.
"Of course, if you’re really shy," said Monica, "we could leave you all the wine, but your back really looks like it could use a pair of hands."
"Ahhhh, ummmh, errr." Suddenly reality clicked in. "A pair of right hands, you mean?" he asked softly. Grant dropped his undershirt on top of his shirt. "Me? Shy? Who said that?"
Scarlet robe and white tabard landed on the neighboring chair.
Chapter 20
"Fighting Words Doctrine. Fighting words are words whose utterance is so outrageous as to be likely to provoke an altercation, thereby negating the applicability of Sections of these Laws dealing with Assault (q.v. for list of negated sections). Whosoever, other than a member of the Legislature on the floor of the legislature or a candidate for political office advocating her or his own election, shall advocate a diminution in the unfettered individual right to keep and carry arms or any other right guaranteed by the Charter of Rights and Privileges, shall be found to have uttered a statement covered by the Fighting Words Doctrine."
Massachusetts General Laws, 2062
SUPREME COMMAND CONFERENCE HALL
HEADQUARTER, PLA GENERAL STAFF
PEKING, CHINA
0630 HOURS CT 25 OCTOBER 2174
"How did this happen?" An outraged Marshal Tsien opened the meeting by screaming at his staff. "Five years of work! Gone in an evening! Chairman Fu said 'Four steps forward, three steps back'. That means in total one step forward. First those incompetents botched the over border attacks, getting beaten by American girls. Botched them enough that the Americans lit up the whole border like an American theme park. Now the secret infiltrators -- who have done nothing, absolutely nothing, above surface within the American defenses in a month -- they got caught! How is this possible?" The Marshal's snarl made his subordinates blood run cold. Marshal Wu had personally delivered revolutionary justice to the earlier incompetents, i
n the form of nine millimeter retirement letters. What was about to happen now?
"Xiu! You were in charge of this operation! What happened? Report!" The Marshal's veins stood out on his neck.
"At once, Comrade Marshal!" Marshal Xiu snapped to attention. "We have tapes of several bases being overrun. We have records -- the Americans showed no sign of interest in our bases for many months. Then all at once, they attacked. And now they are broadcasting this picture at our video channels, so the entire world has seen it." A picture, a nearly unclad woman with a huge weapon, and a few words floating above her head, appeared on one screen.
Marshal Tsien stared at the picture, repeated the words to himself, and finally whispered. "Does someone recognize that, that weapon she's carrying? And -- my English is rustier than I thought, because to my ears something is wrong with the words, isn't it?"
"You are correct as always, Comrade Marshal!" Xiu shouted. "That should read 'All you bases am now belonging to us'."
"How did the American dogs find the bases?" Tsien interrupted.
"This question is under investigation, Comrade Marshal," Xiu answered.
Tsien frowned. "The rest of you will redouble your efforts to explain this totally unsatisfactory state of affairs," he announced. Xiu paled. Tsien continued in a far calmer voice. "Comrade Marshal Xiu and I have been ordered by Supreme Chairman Fu to report to the Politburo. This morning. Shall we go, Comrade Marshal?" He led the younger man from the room.
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